Into the Light
by Katsu
Summary: The gunfire began as the sun went down, and he prayed. (NA)


**Into the Light**

"Come on, Chi. The day is finally at hand. We need you!" 

Chi Yosha only shook his head, his normal smile gone. His long black hair, unbound because he'd been sleeping, flopped into his eyes. "I can't. You go ahead without me. I'll care for Lori, and prepare a meal and first aide for when you return." 

Mack frowned, his eyes narrowing. He gave Chi a suspicious look, slowly lowering the proffered assault rifle. "You won't fight," he said flatly. 

Chi shook his head again. "Not won't. Can't." 

"You used to come on raids with us. What's the matter now, it's the big push! We need you." Anger was beginning to surface. 

"I haven't picked up a gun in five years. I don't intend to start again now, Mack." 

"Aren't you sick of hiding yet?" 

"We're all tired of being on the run," Chi said, as soothingly as he could. Mack was warming up to a righteous froth, he could feel it. While he normally didn't mind listening, it would be counterproductive and poisonous now. Mack was needed in the front lines. "I will make myself useful here. Not everyone can be a hero, Mack. Allow me to do what I can." 

With one final smoldering look, Mack slung the rifle over his shoulder and stomped out, followed by the other residents of their little hiding place in the nether. Each of them had an angry look to them. Chi allowed it all to roll from his heart like oil from water. 

After they had gone, he changed Lori's bandages; she was still unconscious, but she moaned when he rolled her onto her side. He took it as a good sign, perhaps meaning she would wake soon. His mind elsewhere, he rolled bandages and sterilized the few medical instruments they'd acquired in boiling water. Various drugs and antibacterial agents were lined up and ready on the table, with their small collection of syringes placed appropriately. Stew from the last of their food stores went onto the rickety, rusted out stove top to boil slowly and fill the tiny, broken room with the scent of reprocessed meat and vegetables. The few herbs that he'd managed to grow out in the fields of shattered concrete went into the pot as well, making the concoction a bit more appetizing. 

Then there was nothing to do but wait, kneeling at Lori's bedside with a wet rag that he used to dribble water into her mouth, one careful drop at a time. 

The gunfire began as the sun went down. 

Chi set the rag back into the small, cracked bowl of water and pulled the necklace of wooden beads from his pocket. He wound them around his hand as he walked over to the small chest against the wall that contained all of his possessions. It was unlocked; everyone had his or her secrets, and everyone respected that. 

The book of teachings was the first thing visible when he opened the lid. It always was. Reverently, he took it and walked back over to the bed, laying it in his lap as he sat. The pages were wrinkled, and stained rusty brown with the blood of his uncle. There was no need to open it; he knew the passages all by heart now. 

His uncle had been his only family, the only one wise enough to let an angry youth that had followed his example and refused the dose join the resistance. He could still remember the sad smile he'd seen that day, but there'd been no words spoken. Xian Yuren has always known, it seemed, what was important and what had to be done. 

Two years later, Lori had stumbled into their hideout, hysterical and with a bullet in her side. She had held the book in front of her like a shield, still dripping with the blood of Xian Yuren, and gasped out the news that he was dead at the hands of the Clerics before collapsing. That had earned her the unlucky (if truthful) nickname of "Bullet Magnet". 

The others had expected rage from Chi. But as he'd held the book of teachings, the coppery scent of blood filling his head, he'd felt the spirit of his uncle standing beside him. The soft voice of Xian Yuren had filled his mind, chanting words of understanding and peace in liquid Chinese, and he prayed. 

As he prayed now. 

The sutras fell from his lips like soft music, once for each bead on the string. The names of the Buddha, the meditation of peace and hope. Once for each person that would die in the revolution. Once for each dream. 

The others came home, bloody and jubilant as the sun rose. There was no need to ask the outcome. He tended their wounds, thankful that no one under his care had been seriously injured, and fed them stew. When they were all settled down and Lori had been given more water, he opened the chest once more. 

Razor. Robes of saffron and burgundy. Book. Prayer beads. 

Chi stepped out into the morning. The concrete was already warm and sharp under his bare feet. Without looking back, he shed his clothing as he walked, pausing to wash in the cistern of rainwater that they kept for that purpose. Wind and sun dried him as he took up the razor. His hair fell to the ground in large hanks as he cropped it more and more closely, finally reaching the smooth skin beneath. The robes were soft and still held the ghostly scent of his uncle. 

Sitting in the sun on a broken wall, he prayed. The spirit of his uncle was with him as the sutras flowed from his lips, and tears flowed unashamed from his eyes. For everything. 

Mack found him there, as the sun was just beginning to sink. He walked with a limp, and Chi noted that he'd need to change the bandages on his shoulder soon, but otherwise he was well, and happy. He lit up a hand-rolled cigarette, standing downwind. "You're crying, Chi." 

"I know." 

Mack took a long drag, and coughed. "This is still the same sun, Chi. Not really like you to be this way." 

"I know that as well." Chi turned his face toward the light, letting his eyes slip shut. "It's the changing of the seasons, Mack. The sun has always been there, but now all can feel the warmth of the light." 


End file.
